New Warriors: Virtue and Vice
by Zak Chambers
Summary: Since Onslaught struck, The New Warriors have disbanded after failing to pick up the slack. Now the team is forced back together for what could be their last adventure!
1. Chapter 1

_**NEW WARRIORS**__ written by Zak Chambers_

_Issue #1: Virtue & Vice; Part One – "Out of the Spotlight" _

* * *

The blazing lights overhead built up a decent amount of sweat upon his brow, forcing him to squint. His helmet was removed but the stress of the situation more than made up for the missing weight. He felt like it was his first day at school and he had walked into class late, not to mention totally naked. A hundred people stared him down curiously like he was on display for the world to see. In a way he was and he had only himself to blame. 

"So how would you describe your work as a superhero?"

He looked at the woman who had asked the question. The microphone in her hand, which had been pointed at her own mouth moments before, was now stabbing into his own face like a deadly tool of humiliation. He tried to gulp but the saliva had long since dried up in his throat. He opened his mouth and intended to answer with one of his prepared statements but he quickly realized that his mind had gone totally blank.

"Well, uh, Sharon, I guess you could say it's not, um, as glamorous as it seems on TV," he said. He immediately hated the words that had slipped out of his lips but decided to just go with it. "It's a thankless job I guess. But that's okay. We don't get into this for the money, at least not in my experience. The girls. I do it for the girls."

He followed his reply up with a smile, hoping that the make-up the people backstage had plastered his face with didn't make him look stupid. It was hard to gauge the audience's reaction while the lights blinded him, but he heard a decent amount of laughter. The laughs helped him relax slightly.

"I expect as the acclaimed hero that you are that you would be fighting the ladies off with a stick!" the talk-show host proclaimed with the casual amount of joy that had landed her job. "But what about the other side of things, Mister Rider? What about archenemies and notorious supervillains that always come back for more?"

The man called Nova smirked at the notion that Sharon O'Shea, the host of _The Sharon Show_, had presented to him. "I'm not sure what you were told, Sharon, but in my career as a hero I haven't really achieved much success in the archenemy department."

"So as a member of the defunct group of teen heroes dubbed the New Warriors you didn't encounter certain bad guys time and again who were out for revenge?"

"Not exactly," Nova answered. The longer the interview went on the more comfortable he was becoming. "We almost always wrapped things up in a nice and neat bundle once the smoke cleared."

He hated the fact that he had accepted the offer to appear on the nationally syndicated program, but when he was being honest with himself he knew that he had hoped to bolster his public image. Ever since the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, the originals, had been killed by the monstrosity that was Onslaught it had been difficult to publicly fill that void. People wanted someone to look up to. Someone who would make them feel safe at night. Someone who could protect them like Captain America, the Thing, and all the others had done.

He had even gone public with his identity, hoping that would be enough to instill belief in him. The result had been less than pleasing. Eventually the Warriors had disbanded, despite Nova's protests. He kept in contact with a couple of them but not as well as he really though he should have.

The simple fact of the matter was he had some big boots to fill and so far he didn't think he had done his job well enough.

"Well, Mister Rider, my next guest may disagree with you!" Sharon O'Shea said. She turned to face the crowd and stepped off the stage. "Let's bring him out, shall we?"

The audience clapped and Nova found himself at a loss for words. He hadn't expected this. He wondered who she was bringing out and was stunned to see a familiar face, that of someone he had crossed paths with on several occasions. He realized then that Sharon O'Shea, a legend in the industry for creating chaos on her shows, had set him up. What was worse was he had fallen for it.

"This is Mister Thomas Sorenson," Sharon yelled into her microphone while the audience clapped, "a career criminal who has clashed with the New Warriors, along with the man called Nova, many times as the colorful Mathemanic!"

Sorenson crossed the stage and waved casually to the crowd as he sat down in a comfortable chair on the opposing side of the stage from Nova. His trademark blonde mullet had been cut back considerably, making him look older than he was. He still wore the 3-D glasses that Nova had knocked off his face a few different times.

Richard Rider instantly regretted coming on the show. He didn't want a fight to break out, especially with the Mathemanic. If a fight broke out on TV the country would hate him instead of trust him.

"Thanks for having me, Sharon," the Mathemanic said.

"Let's get right down to it," the host said as she stepped to center stage exactly between the two guests. "Two years ago, almost to the day, the world's greatest heroes were taken from us. Some would argue a new era has begun, an era that doesn't play by the same rules. The two of you, and let's be honest, aren't the most well-known public figures. But you've still butted heads and caused more than your fair share of damage."

"Hold on a sec—" Nova said, trying to interrupt.

Sharon innocently held up a hand toward him but kept on talking. "What we want to know is since the rules have all changed, can the two of you peacefully co-exist?"

"I don't know about buckethead over there," the Mathemanic said, "but since the last time he and his groupies sent me to jail I've turned over a new leaf. If anybody here has a problem these days it's him."

"I don't have any—" Nova blurted out, but again he found himself silenced by Sharon's hand.

"So what your saying is that the so-called heroes may be doing more harm than good?"

"Um, no. Not really. What I mean is—"

"What you mean is that ever since this world lost its _real_ heroes, those that stepped up were forced into a position they weren't ready for!" Sharon countered. The crowd began chanting her name in the background, a custom of the show that had become its trademark. "They get the spotlight while you had to pay for it. And why, Mister Sorenson? Weren't you an innocent caught up in _their_ game?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Nova said as he stood up. "Look, lady. This isn't why I signed on to do the show. You're really twisted, you know that? We're done here."

As Nova stormed off the stage the host motioned to her producer to go to commercial. The already frantic stagehands jumped up to retouch her make-up as the audience cheered from the aggravation created on stage. Nova reached the side exit from the studio but stopped when he heard his name being called from behind him.

"Wait a second, will you?" the Mathemanic said as he hopped off the stage and ran over to the hero. His breathing had deepened even though it wasn't that long of a jog. "I didn't know she was going to get all crazy on us, man. I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Nova replied. He took his hand off the door and turned to regard the man he had fought in a time that seemed a world away now. "Just don't start a fight and we'll be fine."

"Heh," Sorenson chuckled. "Different life, man. Way different. Look, I just came here because they offered me a thousand bucks to show up. Things have been kind of tough, you know? No one wants to hire an ex-con."

"Sorry to hear that. Must be rough."

"Yeah," the former villain replied. "Look, maybe you could help me out."

"I don't think so." Nova shifted his stance. Something didn't feel right about the situation. "I'm not going back on that game show. Best of luck to you. Hope your fifteen minutes here works out."

Nova turned back around and pushed the exit door open, stomping off to leave the studio. He didn't notice Sorenson and Sharon O'Shea share a quick glance before the Mathemanic chased off after Nova. By the time the former villain reached the parking lot, however, Nova had donned his helmet again and leapt into the open sky. Within seconds the human rocket had blazed across the horizon and was out of sight.

The world had become a different place and Richard Rider wasn't sure he fit in anymore. For a man who had seen a handful of galaxies as part of the intergalactic Nova Corps, he began to think that maybe there wasn't anything left for him on Earth. The cool breeze washing over his face as he flew across the skyline helped clear his head.

One thing was for sure to Nova. The glory days of the New Warriors were long gone.

* * *

The small diner that sat in the heart of Los Angeles was usually full around lunchtime, sporting famous celebrities who wanted to "slum it" with the working class L.A. inhabitant. At the moment, however, it seemed that even the most adventurous Hollywood actor wanted nothing to do with the establishment. Completely empty except for the staff and a lone occupant, the diner had seen better days. 

"Order up!" a youthful and energetic voice said from the kitchen.

The only customer in the establishment winced as she saw a few tiny multicolored bubbles float out through the small window that separated the kitchen and the counter. A bright light flashed and before she could react a stack of pancakes flew at her face. The syrup covered breakfast food slapped her square in the forehead and slid down onto an empty plate in front of her. She let out a small "eek!" and furiously wiped at the syrup still stuck to her face.

"Oops," the voice from the kitchen said. "Sorry, miss. Little too much kinetic energy I guess. I'll just whip up another batch real quick."

The customer shot an angry look at the window, unable to see exactly where the cook was. She grabbed her purse and swaggered to the exit, pushing it open and leaving in a sticky tizzy.

An extremely overweight man in his mid-forties stood up from behind the counter where he had been hiding. "That's it!" he yelled. "Get your skinny butt out here! You're fired!"

"Say what?" the youthful voice replied. The door leading back to the kitchen was kicked open by an orange boot, which was connected to a lithe young man wearing a blue and orange body suit. "You can't fire me! I'm your biggest draw!"

"_Was _my biggest draw, punk!" the large owner of the diner responded. "Now people are too afraid to come in the joint because you keep slingin' their food at 'em. I hired you 'cause you was an ex-superhero and I figured that would draw in the big stars, see? Now look at the place! No one in sight! You're done, Flapjack. Get out."

"The name is Speedball," the youth stated. He ripped off his white smock and threw it at the owner. "Whatever. I don't need this garbage. There's a ton of offers just waiting for me to return calls! You'll be sorry."

The master of kinetic energy strutted to the door with his head held as high as he could hold it. He kicked the door open and with an afterthought grabbed one of his floating balls of contained kinetic energy and gently tossed it over his shoulder. The sphere bounced off the floor, slammed into the ceiling, and finally crashed into the cash register, causing it to explode. Coins and bills flew everywhere as the owner swore up and down for Speedball to get back, but the bouncing dynamo was already outside and activating his personal force field.

Speedball hopped on top of a parked car to give himself a little kick start in order to romp off down the street. The car alarm suddenly blared, alerting passersby to the strange costumed individual standing atop someone's Buick.

"Car thief!" someone shouted. "Call the police!"

"I'm not a—" Speedball began to say, but quickly cut himself off. "Oh, forget it."

The gaudily dressed hero leapt off of the car and allowed the resulting kinetic energy to propel him down the street. He twisted inside the force field surrounding him, which guided his trajectory into the side of a building. Ricocheting off of that surface Speedball angled himself to bounce off of the top of a lamppost, which propelled him to the roof of another building.

Speedball released the stored kinetic energy that formed his force field and touched down on the roof. He sighed and leaned back against the edge. Things hadn't been working out well for him lately.

"Stupid job," he said aloud to no one. "Hated it there anyway. I'm a hero for crying out loud! I should be—"

The sound of police sirens whizzing by underneath him caught his attention and wrecked his train of thought. "Sweet!" he yelled as he reformed his force field and bounced off the roof.

The energetic hero easily caught up with the three roaring squad cars that were tearing down the center of Los Angeles. Spying their point of interest from his height, a runaway armored car, Speedball smiled and ricocheted off the corner of a building toward the chase.

Speedball landed on top of the armored car, gripping its sides with his thin fingers. The armored car swerved to one side as it rounded a corner at around sixty miles per hour, nearly jarring his lose. No longer protected by his surrounding field, Speedball held on for dear life as the armored car rocketed through the L.A. streets.

It was difficult to fight against the wind shear, but Speedball managed to lean over the front window and take a look inside the armored car. Two men with ski masks occupied the driver and passenger seats, the latter sporting a sawed-off shotgun.

"Looks like someone is making an unauthorized withdrawal!" Speedball shouted over the roar of the racing armored car. The thieves both jumped from the shock of seeing the orange and blue weirdo atop their stolen vehicle. The one with the weapon fumbled for the safety before pointing it at Speedball's head. "Whoa, whoa, cowboy!" he tried to warn, but the crook squeezed off a shot anyway.

The buckshot from the weapon embedded itself into the inside of the windshield but didn't quite puncture the bulletproof glass. A large dose of the tiny pellets bounced back and struck the thieves in the chest, startling them. The protective vests they wore kept them alive, but the shock of what had just happened made the driver swerve the vehicle onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians screamed as the lumbering armored car headed straight for a famous fashion store that catered to the super wealthy.

"Oopsies!" Speedball exclaimed as he reactivated his force field. Quickly concentrating, Speedball extended his field of condensed kinetic energy to contain the armored car he was perched atop. No sooner had he locked the field in place than they slammed into the storefront. Instead of exploding into a mesh of glass, brick, and armor plating, the vehicle instead harmlessly bounced off the surface of the wall…and straight into the oncoming squad cars.

The entire armored car, with Speedball planted on the roof like a bull rider, slipped up and over the first squad car, supported only by his extended force field. The strain of supporting the immense weight became too much for him halfway over the collection of police vehicles and the field suddenly gave out. The armored car slammed down into the engine block of the second squad car, caving it in under its immense weight.

Speedball hopped off the roof of the armored car and yanked the passenger side door open. Both of the thieves were absolutely fine, but both were dazed and confused from the exertion of being tossed around inside the cabin of the armored car. He dragged both of them out and held them up for the approaching police officers to see.

"Don't worry, boys!" the hero said triumphantly. "This situation is well in hand. No need to thank me all at once. I was just—"

"Thank you?" one of the officers blurted out. "Who the hell are you? You just wrecked my cruiser, you fruitcake!"

Another pair of officers ran up and slapped handcuffs on the two thieves, yanking them away from Speedball. Rubbing the lenses of his goggles, Speedball looked over the other police officers and realized that his welcome was quickly wearing thin.

"Um, okay. Sorry. Yeah. Got to run. Bye, bye now."

"Get back here!" the officer screamed, but Speedball was already rebounding off of the third squad car, which had crashed into the back bumper of the second one, and making his grand exit.

The sometimes overly energetic hero pondered whether or not he should think of a change in living location, as the good people of Los Angeles just didn't seem to appreciate him.

* * *

The sun had nearly set behind the fifteen story building that held the corporate offices of the Taylor Foundation, but a few people still remained inside. Even though business hours had ended hours ago the dedicated men and women that believed most in what the foundation had been established for were intent on finishing what they had started that morning. 

"I thought that meeting had been cancelled?" Dwayne Taylor exclaimed into the intercom on his desk. He sighed as he loosened his tie for the fifth time and slouched back in his plush office chair. "You know what? Never mind. Go home, Samantha. We'll take care of it in the morning. Say hello to John for me."

Before his secretary could reply he shut the intercom off. Dwayne rubbed his eyes, fighting off exhaustion. Typically he would be home by this point in the evening, but lately he kept staying in the office later and later. He finally admitted to himself that he didn't have much to go home to, which typically satisfied his reasoning long enough to get through a few more hours of paper work.

The seemingly endless shuffle of desk duty was something Dwayne Taylor never thought he would be swept up in. While he desperately wanted the various projects that the foundation dabbled in to succeed, there was a time when he would have much rather preferred to be sparring in a dojo. Once known as the masked Night Thrasher, a vigilante and hero of sorts, Dwayne had traveled the world learning various styles of martial arts. The hardships he learned had served him well, and currently patience was a virtue he valued above most others.

Frustrated, Dwayne stood up and stretched, realizing it was the first time in several hours he had let his legs support his full weight. He brought his knees up to his chest one at a time, stretching out the ligaments and sleepy muscles. Dwayne twisted his back, cracking his spine, as he walked over to a mostly bare wall in his office.

Removing the articulate blazer he wore as part of his business suit, Dwayne tossed it on a nearby chair and pressed a hidden switch behind a painting hanging on the wall. A large section slid back to reveal a hidden display. On a shelf inside the unveiled compartment rested a pair of his old battle staves along with various other gadgets he had perfected in the field. Hanging above them were the modular pieces of body armor he had designed to protect himself, complete with a black and red helmet that stared at him ominously.

He couldn't remember the last time he had checked out his old Night Thrasher gear. A thin coating of dust brushed off easily as he clutched the battle staves. He twirled them in his hands, executing a series of movements that few people could have duplicated. He lunged out with the staves, stabbing at an invisible enemy, and then swept the tips around to strike at another ghostly opponent. He grunted as he leapt back and kicked his one leg out, stretching his muscles yet again with the maneuver. Upon landing just a few feet back he continued to twirl the battle staves until one of them slipped out of his fingers and fell to the carpeted floor.

He stared at it, realizing just how out of practice he had allowed himself to become. There was a time that would never have happened. He chided himself for letting his skills dull.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," he heard a woman say.

Dwayne whirled around and prepared to defend himself. He gripped his remaining battle stave tightly as he searched the interior of his office only to find that he was indeed alone.

"Over here," another woman's voice said.

Dwayne looked in the direction of the voice and to his surprise saw a pair of women floating just outside his office window. He smiled as he instantly recognized the two females as longtime friends, friends he had lost touch with over the last few months.

Garbed in a tight yellow and red suit was Angelica Jones, the heroine called Firestar. A soft glow surrounded her, which Dwayne knew was her microwave-based powers that allowed her to defy gravity. Streaks of red ran through her dark hair that reached down passed her shoulders. She looked good, probably better than he did.

Beside her was a flying blue skinned woman of foreign beauty. Her code name had been Kymeara, but her actual name was Namorita, and only her close friends referred to her as Nita. A clone of an Atlantean, the strong and athletic looking woman was possibly one of the fiercest people Dwayne had ever met. Her long blonde hair was tied into a tight pony tail that hung down the length of her back and her arms were crossed over her chest impatiently.

"Well?" Nita said. "Aren't you going to invite us in? It's cold up here."

Dwayne collected his dropped battle stave and made his way to the window, which he quickly unlatched so they could float into his office. "Aren't you attuned to the chilling depths of the oceans?" he asked as the couple flew in. "I doubt a little bit of wind is going bother you too much. Good to see the two of you."

"Ditto," the blue skinned woman replied. "Burning the midnight oil?"

"More or less. The foundation has some important research going on concerning new treatments for multiple organ failure. I like to keep on top of things."

The trio settled into a moment of silence as each one was unsure of what to say next. Their adventures as part of the New Warriors had brought them closer than most people would be able to understand, but after their initial failure to replace the lost heroes they had drifted apart. It was like seeing an old aunt or uncle from your youth pop in randomly.

"So," Dwayne began to say. "How are you guys? Can I get you a drink?"

"Thanks, but no," Nita answered. "We're sort of here on business. We need your help, Dwayne."

The CEO of the Taylor Foundation went rigid. He noticed that Firestar had removed herself from them slightly and her arms were uneasily rubbing her elbows. It looked like she was upset about something.

"To put it more accurately," Dwayne said, "you mean _she_ needs my help. What's wrong, Angelica?"

The firecaster let her head hang. A few stray locks of hair brushed in front of her face, kept out of her eyes by the red domino mask she wore. Her body language alone had told Dwayne that something was bothering her enough that she needed his help. In his experience he knew that Firestar was typically much more lighthearted than the others in their old group, and that for her to be acting in such a manner meant that something important was going on.

"It's not really me," Firestar explained. "I retired from this hero nonsense. I was done. Out. I wanted to live a normal life and put the costumes behind me. Being a mutant is difficult enough without being part of the hero crowd as well."

Namorita moved closer to Firestar and placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to sympathize with her. "Just tell him what happened," Nita told her. "That's why we came here."

"Like I said, I was done with this stuff," Angelica continued. "And Vance was done, too."

Dwayne started to put the pieces together in his head. Vance Astrovik, another former member of the New Warriors, had been romantically connected with Firestar on several occasions. The last he had heard they were living together somewhere and things had gotten serious. As the costumed hero called Justice, Vance had been an invaluable member of the New Warriors.

"Something happened to Vance?" Dwayne hypothesized aloud.

Firestar shook her head affirmatively. "Yes. I came home from a job interview and had good news to tell him. I nailed the thing and got the job right on the spot. I wanted to celebrate. To me getting that job meant I was done leaning on Firestar and that Angelica Jones could stand on her own, you know? Anyway, I got home and the place was a wreck. Vance was gone. And there…there was blood."

"Did you call the police?" Dwayne asked.

"She did," Nita answered for her friend. "And then she called me. Dwayne, we need to find out what happened to Vance. We need to grab the others and start searching before something really bad happens."

Dwayne looked passed the two women standing in his office and focused on the helmet still hanging on the wall. It looked back at him eerily. "Okay," Dwayne finally said after a long pause. "Let's collect the other Warriors and track down Vance. Don't worry, Angelica. He's tough and if anyone can handle himself it's him. We'll find him."

He hoped that she believed in his apparent confidence. He wasn't sure that he did.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_**NEW WARRIORS**__ written by Zak Chambers_

_Issue #2: Virtue & Vice; Part Two – "Learning Curve"

* * *

_

Normally, the night sky over Los Angeles would be mostly darkened from the thick smog that emanated out of the city. They said the smog was the reason why they had such beautiful sunsets, but it also detracted from the moonlight. Though currently the night was illuminated by a gold streak rocketing across the horizon, casting light down onto the city and scaring certain shadows away.

Flying for most was a sort of release. Especially for the world's heroes, whose lives were so often plagued with tragedy, flying was a way to let loose. Up above the clouds there was nothing to get in one's way, nothing to worry about except the occasional airplane. But the sky was a big place, and it was easy to lose yourself in it.

The man called Nova flew high above the city, wondering if his life would ever return to the way it was. Ever since the Warriors had disbanded he had felt like a man without a home, both physically and metaphorically. He didn't even have a city to call his own, which was why he was in Los Angeles. He had at least one friend here, and he was on his way to meeting him now.

Nova pushed down through the clouds with ease as he accelerated his downward spiral. The wind roared around him, but his curved gold helmet kept the brunt of it from annoying him. The city below raced up to meet him and once he was several hundred feet above the tallest tower, he put on the brakes and slowed to a halt.

He pulled up quickly, not worrying about showing off just a bit. His friend, who was no stranger to showing off himself, stood atop the building they had picked to meet at. Nova gently touched down and with an air of self-confidence, took a slight bow in a joking manner.

"Ya know," his watching friend, the colorful Speedball, said, "I always wished I could fly. It looks so freakin' cool."

"I know," Nova replied. "Not like I'm rubbing it in or anything." He ended the statement with a quick smirk. The two had been friends for a long time and could play off of each other's personalities well. It was something that had made them such good teammates in the field.

"So, what's up, buckethead?" Speedball leaned back against the short wall along the edge of the roof, propping his elbows on the top of it. His trademark goggles were pushed up over his forehead and he wore a long trenchcoat over his blue and orange costume.

"I wanted to see a friendly face, reminisce."

"Plus you were in the area," Speedball added with a hint of cynicism.

Nova removed his helmet, revealing a frown just above his chiseled chin. "You saw the show, huh?"

"Yeah, I caught the highlights," Speedball replied. "What were you thinking, going on TV like that? I always told you to leave the spotlight to those of us more fit for it. I mean, c'mon. Look at me." Speedball stood up straight and placed his hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose. "Do I not scream alpha male?"

"I dunno. I just…ever since the heroes disappeared with Onslaught…"

"Yeah, I know. Hey. I'm glad you swung by, okay? Forget about it. That Sharon chick is an idiot. And the Mathemaniac? Couldn't she have gotten a better punching bag?"

Nova smiled, and the mood on the roof instantly lightened. It had been quite some time since he had seen Speedball, or any of his former teammates for that matter. The days of being one of the nation's top heroes had barely come to fruition for his and his friends, and when they had tried to step up to take the place of such stalwarts as Captain America, Iron Man, and Thor, he hated to admit that they faltered. Still, it felt good to see Speedball and remember simpler times.

"So how have things been?" Nova asked after a brief silence.

"Eh," Speedball said with a shrug. "I got fired yesterday. No biggie. Hard to find work for an ex-superhero. I'll bounce back."

"Bounce back? Really?" Nova couldn't help but let out a laugh. He doubted that the pun was intended, but he couldn't help it. "I know what you mean, though. Without the costume it's hard to find a place in this world. I fly into space every once in a while but I always end up back on terra firma. Can't bring myself to turn my back."

"You know what I've always said," a voice said from somewhere in the dark, "I enjoy the view of your backside."

Nova and Speedball both jumped at the voice, but quickly relaxed when they recognized it. The looked to the dark shadows of the roof and saw several people seemingly melt out of them, stepping through the ether and back into their plane of existence as easily as if they were passing between two rooms.

"Thanks, Nita," Nova replied. "But don't try and pinch me."

The blue-skinned Atlantean smiled and tossed back her blonde hair. Now that she was out of the shadows, the moonlight glistened over his sleek body, enhancing her strange and foreign beauty. Beside her was Firestar, who was holding her own arms to her sides by the elbows, with a worried look on her face. Behind both of them was Night Thrasher, again dressed in his full black and red body armor. The last to slip out of the shadows was the woman who had deposited them on the roof, whose powers were their mode of transportation, Silhouette.

"Did you call them?" Speedball asked Nova. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's nice to be in demand."

"He didn't," Night Thrasher interrupted. "I asked Sil to bring us here. Our reunion is going to have to be cut short. We've got a problem."

Nova had never known Night Thrasher to be the casually friendly type, but there was something in his voice, and the way Firestar looked, that said this was serious. Gravely serious. If the strange impromptu group meeting wasn't call enough to question the gravity of the situation, these two things combined spelled it out for him.

"What's going on?" Speedball asked. He was also standing at attention and had already slipped his goggled over his eyes, ready for action.

"It's Vance," Kymeara answered. "He's missing and…and we think it might be bad."

* * *

"I still don't think this is a good idea," a thin and somewhat wrangled man said, his voice cutting through the vast and mostly empty warehouse. "We're just asking for trouble—"

"Shut up, Tom," a woman said, cutting him off. "You know that this is your only chance for survival. Skip this and you might as well call the cemetery to reserve a plot."

Tom turned back from looking over his shoulder, placing his attention back to the machinery that was piled in front of him. The silver outline of the giant machines stood out against the dark and empty backdrop of the warehouse, a building he and the woman had set up shop in six months ago when they found out about their conditions.

Laid out before Tom on a long and slender table was a well-toned man, barely thirty years of age if even that, illuminated by the flood lights hanging near the top of the machinery. Tom tapped at the keyboard that was extended out from the console beside the man, calling up information about the unconscious man's vital statistics. So far they were at normal parameters, which helped take the edge out of Tom's stress level.

"Are you still mad about the show?" Tom asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "About Nova?"

"Am I mad that your powers were already dulled enough that you couldn't subdue that brainless oaf? Am I mad that when he got away so did my chance at survival? Gee, why would I be mad, Tom?"

From the other side of the vast machine stepped out an attractive woman dressed in an immaculate suit, her face caked with make-up. But it was no ordinary make-up. It was stage make-up.

"Sorry," Tom said beneath his breath.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, now does it, Tom?" The woman threw her hands up in disgust and let out a long sigh that was dripping with disdain and irritation. "You live, I die. That was my last time hosting the show and it wasn't even a good one. My producer told me that washed up superhero didn't spike our ratings even one full point."

She paced behind him as he called and recalled information on the screen, making sure his calculations matched what the computers were telling him. Her blonde hair flipped around ever time she pivoted on one foot and began marching the other way. It was obvious that she was upset, but there was something else about the way she was moving. It was somber, like something was weighing her down. Each lift of her foot seemed like a tiny struggle, as if there was a small invisible weight attached to it.

"Is he stable?" she finally asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine for the transfer. We just have to wait."

A door at the far end of the warehouse burst open and a figure stalked in. He screamed in agony with each step as he crossed the empty floor to where the other two were waiting. The woman ran to him, meeting him halfway. "Wait!" she said as the newcomer tried to step around her. Tom stood, watching feebly.

"Wait?" he screamed at her. "That idiot blew it! I saw the show! Nova took off without so much as one twitch. You know what that means, right? RIGHT?"

The woman took in a breath, and placed her hands on the newcomer's broad shoulders. "Yes, I know," she said in a soothing voice. The irony was not lost on the watching Tom, who only moments ago had been on the receiving end of that same temper, only it had been coming from her. Both times it was directed at him though. "We're working on it. Tom—"

"Mathemaniac my ass!" the newcomer scolded. "If he's so smart then how come he can't fix us, huh, Heidi? Explain that one!"

"He's working on it, Dwight!"

Dwight swiped Heidi's hands away and shrugged out of her grasp. His larger frame made it much easier to slip around her and again stalk toward the frightened Tom. He came within a foot of Tom and stuck his index finger into his face. "You better be, smart boy," Dwight said.

He ripped off his blue mask to reveal a deformed and moldy face, which startled Tom. "If you can't tell," Dwight said, "it's already started. Look at me. Look at me! I'm a freak!"

"The cellular generation shouldn't have caught up with you so fast…"

"Yeah, well, everything I do is fast. That's why they call me Impulse." Dwight placed his mask back on and stepped to the side where he towered over the unconscious man on the table. He took a couple big breathes to calm himself down and pointed at the knocked-out costumed man. "This him?"

"Yeah," Tom answered feebly.

"Smaller than I remember. What's to stop me from forcing you to put my brain in there instead of your own?"

"You know what," Heidi said, interrupting. "Tom's alpha waves are more attuned to his than yours are. You know that. Don't be an ass, Dwight. Instead of busting in here and throwing your weight around, why don't you try and think of a way to help?"

"Oh, I got a way," Impulse said as he turned toward the way he had entered. "I'll find those do-gooders and get myself a new body if I have to crush every one of them to do it."

There was a flash of wind and the next thing Tom or Heidi knew the sole door to the warehouse was flapping open Impulse was gone. His power had been slowly increasing over the last six months, as opposed to what Tom and Heidi were experiencing. The virus was reacting differently in all of them, having already killed a few of their former associates.

"What are we going to do?" Tom asked.

"Keep working," Heidi said. "Just keep working and we'll figure out a way to save all our lives."

* * *

Silhouette stood back while Nova and Night Thrasher began to raise their voices. She knew that tensions would arise quickly having brought the group together so abruptly, but after Dwayne had told her of the dire circumstances she didn't have much choice.

She cast a look at Night Thrasher, Dwayne, her wayward former lover, and wondered if this was another one of this manipulation schemes. His plans when the New Warriors were still a collection of eager young heroes had nearly broken them up on more than one occasion, but his inner fire to see justice done had drawn her to him. They still did, in fact, and years ago and he hadn't used her the way he did then they might still be together.

She shifted her weight, allowing the special leg braces that Night Thrasher had designed for her hold her up. The combat crutches were still shackled to her forearms, ready and willing to lash out at whoever she targeted. Even though her appearance made her look like the most helpless of their number, in truth she was possibly the most deadly.

Her mastery over the darkforce dimension, augmented years ago by a massive disturbance in it, allowed her to not only meld with the shadows, but teleport through them as well. She had a special connection with the darkness, as she was even able to convert her body into that strange energy and phase through her enemies, causing them great pain in the process.

"What do you mean you don't know what's going on?" Nova said. "Where's Justice?"

Silhouette shook her head slightly. Richard had apparently never lost his temper, even though so had to admit that Dwayne wasn't even trying to push his buttons. One of their own was in danger, and Dwayne knew better than to mess around.

"Firestar found blood at their apartment," Night Thrasher explained. "I checked the place out and I can't find any real clues as to who took him. We aren't entirely sure what's happening yet but we need you and Robbie to come with us to help find out."

"Where do we start looking?" Speedball asked.

"Vance and I had quit this game," Firestar said. It was the first thing she had said since arriving on the rooftop. "We didn't have enemies anymore. We hadn't put on the costumes in almost a year. I don't even have suspects!"

Kymeara put her blue hand on Firestar's shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "Is there anything you can remember?" she asked the fiery Angelica. "Anything that could help to point us in the right direction?"

Firestar shook her head as tears began to well into her eyes. Speedball lightly touched Nova's elbow to get his attention, and said, "Dude. Vance wasn't a pushover. That guy had some serious power. You don't get the drop on someone like Vance and not leave a clue behind."

"Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing," Nova replied.

"We're not a forensics team. We should take this to someone with connections."

"Like who?" Night Thrasher said. "The Avengers? The Fantastic Four? In case you hadn't noticed—"

"Relax, Dwayne," Silhouette said. "He didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't I?" Speedball took a few steps toward the freshly arrived quartet, his face turning a sight shade of pink. "We've got to admit it, Sil. We weren't exactly the high profile group, ya know? People don't know us, they barely recognize us. They don't trust us. When the heroes went _bamf_ we tried to step up, and look what happened. Hell, out of all of us Justice was probably the most respectable. He was an Avenger for crying out loud, and he single-handedly saved the freaking Vault. The Vault! What have I ever done, huh? Aside from get in the way."

"Robbie!" Firestar said, shocked. "So, that's it then? You're going to turn your back?"

He turned to her, frowning. "No, of course not, Angel. I'm just saying…I'm just saying that we're not the heroes we used to be. I'm not sure if we're the right ones to look into this."

"Out of all of us," Kymeara said, "I never thought I would hear you say those words, Robbie. You were the most energetic, if you excuse the pun. You held us together. Hell, you even led us for a while there."

Speedball simply hung his head down, shamed by what the Atlantean had said. Silhouette wanted to go to him, ignore the menacing stare that Dwayne was sending his way, and sympathize. In a way he was right, and she agreed with him. She had only transported the makeshift team to L.A. out of a strung-out sense of duty. She didn't have much faith in their group to function coherently anymore, largely because that ship had sailed. They had disbanded for a reason.

"Yeah, well…" Robbie began to say, but he never finished the sentence.

KA-BOOM!

The side of the building became engulfed in flames, sending a shockwave across the roof that upset all of them. Speedball absorbed the kinetic energy of the blast on instinct and was able to maintain his position, shedding his coat and activating his powers in a more visible manner. Yellow orbs began to float around him as the built up energy inside his frail body began to come to the surface.

Nova had only been brought to one knee, and that was mostly out of surprise. If he had been on his guard there was very little in existence that could knock him down. He matched eyes with Speedball for a split second before looking out into the night to try and find the cause of the explosion.

"Get down!" Night Thrasher ordered as he dove for the roof. A string of red energy beams cut through right where he had been standing, burning scorch marks into the otherwise pristine rooftop.

Kymeara bounded straight up into the air, quickly followed by Nova. Speedball hadn't made out who had attacked them yet, and instead of looking he ran for Firestar. The flame-wielding mutant had ignited her external flame purely as a reaction to being fired upon, but had yet to move for cover. Speedball reached her and surrounded them both with a shield of kinetic energy, saying, "Sit tight, Angel! We'll be fine."

No sooner had he erected the shield than another sortie of red laser fire splashed against it. The impact jarred him slightly, but he stood upright and outstretched his arm to support the energy barrier.

"Sil!" Night Thrasher said as he sprung up to a fighting stance, battle staves in hand. "'Port to another vantage point and get a local on whoever the hell is shooting at us!"

Silhouette nodded as she shifted into her darkforce form, completely blending in with the shadows of the night. She stepped back against what would have been a blank wall, but instead her powers allowed her to walk between the folds of space, slipping through the shadows by way of the darkforce dimension.

She teleported to another roof just across the street, swinging out of the shadows by balancing on her crutches. She was practiced enough with them to move just as fast as any person with workable legs. Her keen eyes searched the skies for any sign of an attacker, although she didn't need to look far to find one.

Nova and Kymeara had already intercepted the first dozen drones. Another two to four dozen, she was having a hard time counting that many, were flying in formation behind those. They were silver and round, with small nubs for heads and thick, short arms on the sides of the metal bodies. Red lasers fired out of the short appendages, cutting through the air like superheated knives.

At the center of the maelstrom standing atop a water tower on another building was a villain she recognized instantly. His name was Impulse, and he was a member of the Psionex, a group of chemically and genetically altered superhumans that had clashed with the New Warriors a number of times. She could see him flexing his fingers, as if waiting to join the fray eagerly.

"Dwayne!" she called across the street, but before she could say anything more she felt the hot stab of one of the lasers at her back.

Night Thrasher heard her cry and saw her fall. A trio of the robotic drones had circled behind her without her realizing it and flanked her position. She had been distracted by the quickly growing battle, just as Night Thrasher now was. He needed to focus, prioritize.

Nova had spotted Impulse and was busy shoving his way past the aerial drones to get to him. Kymeara was primarily trying to keep the drones from completely swarming Nova, which is what they were attempting to do to Speedball and Firestar. Night Thrasher shot another quick glance at Silhouette and saw that the number of drones hovering around her had already doubled, with more on the way.

They had been ambushed. So far their coordination was at absolute zero, no where near the level they had once been at. They had never been entirely on the same page, allowing their youthful brashness to overtake their better judgment at times. But now there was a lot on the line and they didn't even know why they were being targeted.

If they wanted to survive the night they were going to have to learn how to work as a team all over again, possibly even better.

"Robbie!" he called out over his shoulder as he bolted for the roof's edge. "Extend your field and snap Firestar out of it! Help Nita and get airborne!"

Without breaking stride he placed one foot on the ledge and pushed off, spreading his arms wide to sail into the air. From where she lay on the other roof, Silhouette saw him make the leap and her heart sank just a bit. There was no way he could make the jump unaided, but he was trying to get to her anyway.

She had instinctively shifted into her shadow form, which was probably the only thing that had saved her from the searing lasers that cut into her back. Now that she was mostly incorporeal she wasn't in lethal danger, but the lasers had her pinned down. And they hurt. A lot. She would lose consciousness unless someone got the drones away from her soon.

She heard the maniacal scream of Impulse just before passing out, recognizing it for the mindless insanity that it was.

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
